SuperWhoLock Assemble
by areyouafraidofthebigbadwolf
Summary: Natasha Romanov sets out to assemble the most powerful people for a mission.
1. Chapter 1

So I had this crazy idea for a SuperWhoLock story involving Natasha from the Avengers and I hope you enjoy it. I don't own any of these characters, but the idea's mine so there's that. No copyright is intended. Please give me feedback. I'm an aspiring writer so I'm always open to hear where I can improve. Also, I'm new to this website and I obviously don't know how it works, so sorry if this little paragraph is weird, but I don't wanna get sued. Enjoy!

Natasha brings Mycroft some interesting news.

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Chapter 1

"You'll wear a hole in the floor," Anthea stated, watching Mycroft Holmes pace tirelessly across his office.

"Highly improbable dear Anthea," Mycroft simply replied, keeping his strides even.

A small smile tugged the edges of Anthea's mouth at her boss's response. Normally, people would be annoyed by this response, Lord knows it's annoyed her before, but today was different. All the time she spent with her boss and never once had she seen him pace. Something was coming. Something big. Anthea loved the suspense.

As she placed the small stack of papers she held in her arms on the table, Mycroft stopped his repetitive walk and strode toward his faithful assistant.

"Do you have a new report for me?" he asked passively, walking around his desk and to his chair.

"Nothing has changed much to Sherlock's discomfort," Anthea reported. "You and your brother may like to point out your differences to myself and Dr. Watson, but when you're both identical when it comes to how easily it is for you two to be bored."

Mycroft tried to hide the smile threatening to stretch across his face, but only slightly succeeded.

"Is that all my dear?" he questioned, sitting down in his office chair and grabbing the files before him.

"That's all," Anthea smiled, turning on her heels and exiting her boss's office.

Mycroft proceeded to read through the files in silence for a few minutes before slicing through the void with his voice.

"Your derision to doors will never cease to amaze me. All that training, and never once have I ever witnessed you turn a doorknob."

"I was busy learning hand to hand," a female voice responded. "I must have missed the class."

"It's been far too long since your last visit, Natasha," Mycroft closed an open file before him and stacked it neatly on top of the others. "To what or to whom do I owe this pleasure?"

Natasha Romanov emerged from the shadows and held up an envelope in her right hand.

"Fury asked me to bring you this," she replied, dropping the envelope before him.

"A trained assassin turned mailman," Mycroft crossed his hands before him and stared at the beautiful redhead before him, meeting his eyes fearlessly. "I'm sure there's a movie script in there somewhere."

Natasha's eyes remained emotionless, yet an amused smirk touched her lips. "Just read the letter," she demanded, turning from the most powerful man in England to stare out his window.

The sound of the letter opening was all that filled the room for several seconds, followed by a deafening silence.

"How long?" Mycroft's voice was all but a whisper.

"A few weeks maybe," Natasha answered, staring out the window with an expressionless face, "Possibly a month. We aren't entirely sure."

"What does Fury suggest we do?" Natasha's head whipped around at this question. In all the time she knew Mycroft Holmes, not once had he asked about Fury's input on things. It made sense he would ask considering that Fury was the best strategist he knew, but it still came as a shock that a Holmes brother would admit in his need for help. Natasha crossed her arms and slowly made her way back to Mycroft's desk.

"You know Fury never tells me anything," she sighed.

"I also know you never ask," Mycroft's eyes gleamed with fear and amusement. "What do _you _suggest I do?"

Natasha met eyes with Mycroft in shock and smiled lightly.

"You already know," she replied.

"Gather the troops then my dear," Mycroft broke his eye contact with Natasha and removed the file from the top of the stacks, opening the second. "And please, do let me know how it all turns out."

"Will they be willing?" Natasha rose her eyebrow.

"No," Mycroft answered. "However-"Mycroft stared up at Natasha from beneath his eyelashes- "it has been a bit boring."

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**AN:** What does it say?! I'm gonna try to update this as often as possible because I have ideas bursting out of me. The next chapter will start introducing the gang so stay tuned!

xo,

Madeline


	2. Chapter 2

So the story continues! I want to thank you all for taking the time to read my story. It means a lot to me. As I mentioned before, I don't own any of this characters, just the plot so please, nobody sue me. I'm just a poor college girl that like to let her imagination run free.

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"Not cool, Sammy," Dean Winchester complained, lowering the volume of the radio and rubbing his eyes.

"Suddenly it's 'not cool' to do that?" Sam Winchester laughed, staring at the road stretched before the windshield of the Impala.

"Of course not," Dean sat up, "You ruined an awesome prank by rubbing 'nerd' all over it."

Sam chuckled light heartedly, bringing a smile to Dean's face. Nothing made this bad boy hunter happier than making his little brother laugh, and after all they had to face, the laughter was well deserved.

"How are you feeling?" Sam's voice was coated with concern.

"Like hell," Dean groaned as he shifted in his seat. "Pun intended."

Sam scoffed lightly at his brother's dry humor.

After receiving a call from Bobby about demonic omens circulating around Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Sam and Dean set at to investigate the situation. Upon reaching Motel 6, the boys began their research, tracked down an abandoned house the most omens seemed to surround, and set out. The plan was lure out the demon onto a devil's trap and exorcise it before it had a chance to smoke out, quick and easy. The boys armed themselves with spray paint, Ruby's knife, and an angel blade, then went on their way.

Upon reaching the destination however, the situation proved to be more intense than they thought. Although they were able to lure out they demon, Sam's Latin chant was interrupted by a grunt from Dean and the sound of a heavy object hitting something hard.

Sam dodged the demon's first blow just in time to be hit by the second blow immediately after. When he saw his brother in distress, Dean felt the adrenaline overtake him and send him flying to their opponent, relieving his brother of a second blow.

As Dean fended off their surprise assailant, Sam rose to his feet and began the chant all over again.

The entire encounter ended with the surprise assailant dead and the target demon back in Hell. The man the demon was possessing, although extremely shaken up, was dropped off at home and reunited with his family, while Sam and Dean drove away from the happy sight with a pit of relief and satisfaction settling in their hearts and minds.

Despite the victory, Sam wasn't in much of a celebratory mood. Although he only walked away with a black eye, Dean received worse injuries, including a dislocated shoulder, a couple of cracked ribs, a gash on his right cheek, a fat lip, a bruised up back, and a sprained ankle.

Now the two drove through South Dakota to reach their 'adopted father.'

"I hate wearing this thing," Dean complained, staring at the make shift arm sling the Winchesters made out of a pillow case years ago.

"I hate having to hear you sing along to the same songs over and over again," Sam shrugged. "We all have to suffer sometimes."

The corner of Dean's mouth lifted into a half smile. "Bitch," he chuckled.

"Jerk," Sam laughed in response.

Dean turned to stare out the window with a smile on his face. Sure, he felt like hell, but that didn't matter. All that mattered to him was the knowledge that his brother was happy, alive, and safe. He would take all the injuries in the world if it meant his brother's safety.

"Dean," Sam said so quickly Dean thought he imagined it, but he turned his head towards his brother anyway.

Sam stared out the window as if in a trance, sending a wave of fear over Dean. Following his brother's gaze, Dean instantly knew what caught Sammy's eye.

The wreckage before them was catastrophic. Cars were flipped on their roofs or their sides and damaged beyond belief. Baby had been through some serious wrecks, but compared to this, she just got a small dent. Car doors lay yards away from their cars. Blood splattered everywhere, starting inside the cars and ending on the trees of the forest twenty yards away from the road. And worst of all, a child seat was drenched in the red bodily fluid we all possess with only a small hand left beside it in a tiny fist.

That sight sent Dean flying out of Baby and heading towards her trunk before Sam could even blink. Numbed by the adrenaline rage pumped through him, Dean packed the knapsack they kept in the trunk and began filling it with whatever he could get his hands on.

"Dean," Sam said gently, climbing out on the impala.

Dean said nothing in response to him little brother and continuing stuffing the bag, filled with purpose.

Sam pulled a rifle from out of Baby and began loading it with rock salt. Once they finished preparing themselves for whatever they were going to face, Dean closed up the trunk and Sam approached the wreckage. After a minute of examining the car the lay closest to them, Sam spotted the yellow powder they were so familiar with.

"Sulfur," he whispered to himself, feeling his temper rise and strengthen.

"Then come on," Dean's voice growled from behind his brother, causing Sam to jump. "Let's get these sons of bitches."

"Not yet," a female voice responded from behind the boys.

Immediately, the pair span around and aimed their weapons at her.

Behind them stood a pale woman with lovely features. Her lips were full and pink, her green eyes stared at the boys with unimpressed eyes. Her red hair was shoulder length and curly, and that was the only feature that made her look innocent. One blue skinny jean and black booted covered leg stretched out away from the other and she held her pale right arm behind her and her left arm loosely hanging beside her, fully exposing the plain red T-shirt she wore.

"Hello Sam and Dean," she smirked.

"Who are you?" Dean glared, tightening his grip on his rifle.

"Natasha Romanov," she replied, not missing a beat. "I'm… a friend."

"Right," Sam scoffed. "We aren't friends with demons."

Natasha tilted her head to the side and blinked her bored green eyes and pulled out a crystal bottle from the small bag at her side and pulled out a crystal vile with a gold cross on it. As she splashed it on her face with the liquid within the container, Sam lowered his rifle a little, yet Dean remained alert.

"We're supposed to believe you're not a demon because you brought your own fancy bottle of water?" Dean questioned venomously. "Well I'm convinced."

The sarcasm cut through the air like a steel blade, yet Natasha merely smiled and stepped forward. As she did, Sam raised his rifle fully again and Dean took a half step sideways to be closer to Sam in case she tried to attack.

"I didn't do this," she declared. "-but I know who did."

"Who did it then?" Sam questioned firmly.

"I'm not going to tell you that yet," she replied.

"Listen up you bitch," Dean growled. "-we aren't up for any of your games. We will kill you right here, right now, on this spot, got it?"

"Then do it," she shrugged, "but that won't help anyone."

Sam and Dean kept their weapons on her as she turned around and began to walk away.

"If you want answers, then meet me," she explained. "If you don't then the amount of dead with increase substantially and that blood will be on your hands. More men and women will die, more children, the population will dwindle worldwide unless you help. Have a nice afternoon boys!" she shouted as she disappeared farther and farther down the street where the boys drove down.

The boys stood in silence for a moment, guns still raised where she had once stood.

"Damn it," Dean mumbled to himself, lowering his rifle. "Why didn't I shoot?"

"For the same reason I didn't," Sam answered. "She could be telling the truth."

Dean turned around and rubbed a hand on his face. Then he kicked one of the car doors beside him.

"Son of a bitch!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, falling to his knees. He placed his hands on his thighs and took deep breaths, closing his eyes as he did so.

"Dean," Sam said softly. "If she's right, we have to check it out. We'll be prepared if everything goes to hell and we can even call Cas for help if we need to, but we have to go."

"Where?" Dean exhaled. "She didn't tell us where to meet her."

"Actually she did," Sam replied causing Dean to rise to his feet and face where his brother was staring.

On Baby, painted in white letters was an address and a time.

"I'm going to kill her," Dean grumbled to himself, as he and his little brother approached his Baby.

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**AN:** What happens next?! I'm going to try to update this story every Tuesday so please favorite or review my lowly story so I can know what you think. Thank you all!

xo,

Madeline


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own any of these characters so please don't sue me! Enjoy!

A gentle smile kissed Castiel's features, delicately, highlighting the golden specks hidden within his ocean blue colored eyes. A soft breeze tousled his raven colored hair, messily, causing his dark strands to flutter wildly away from his forehead and dance erratically in the wind. Tilting his head up toward the crystal blue sky, Castiel closed his eyes and imagined how the warmth of the sun would feel against his skin if he could feel it.

It had been a while since he visited his favorite Heaven. He loved coming here to clear up his mind and unwind after a severely damaging experience. The autistic man always looked carefree as his kite soared gracefully among the clouds, his feet pillowed beneath him by the greenest and softest grass the angels could muster. He raced down the field to keep his kite afloat, his laughter pealing like bells as his excitement reached its peak. The sight always filled the unique angel with wonder. It was a remarkable thing, the excitement of the man that Castiel could not understand. To him, it was just cloth, wood and strings, tied together for a mundane purpose and yet to the deceased man's soul, it was the most spectacular item in the whole world.

It was a wondrous sight to behold. A sight that always reminded Castiel of why the human race was so intriguing to him. He could watch the elated man run with his kite for the rest of his existence and if it weren't for the fact he was currently being summoned by his best friends, he certainly would have.

So, without a moment to waste, the angel rose from the stone bench he frequently rested on and straightened his trench coat. With a smile stretched widely across his face, he turned on his platforms, and prepared to take flight, thoughts of the tranquil man dancing lithely around his mind. Humans never failed to fascinate him. Even in death, they could still find happiness in the most insignificant moments. Perhaps that was why he was so enraptured by them. And so, with a clear mind and tranquil filled heart, Castiel spread his wings and made his way to Earth.

Before he could make it to his destination, Castiel felt an all too familiar pang in his chest. A cold sensation surrounded him, replacing his serene state with a sense of dread and causing him to alter his course.

On the side of an old eroding highway about a hundred miles away from Lawrence, Kansas, Castiel made landfall. Glancing all around him, he searched for the source of his troubled senses, hoping to say goodbye to his fallen sibling.

However, despite his best efforts, the blue eyed warrior found nothing. As a result, he slid his weapon into his hand, a possibly unnecessary precaution- he knew- yet a precaution he was willing to take in order to prevent being blindsided by an opposing force.

Castiel searched and searched the dirt clad ground, relieved at the lack of body or wing marks scorched into the earth, yet wary for the same reason. Time ticked by as he scoured the plane in search for any clue he could, refusing to allow himself to believe his senses were wrong.

As the sun began to set on the horizon, painting the sky with delicate shades of reds, pinks, and oranges, a twinkle upon the ground caught his attention.

Cautiously, he approached it, squatting beside the item of his desire once he reached it and extending his hand out before him to tear it away from its bed among the soil. Twirling the chunk of grey between his hands, he observed the cluster of minerals carefully, watching the item sparkle in the leftover rays of the sun.

"Ariel," he sighed sorrowfully, squeezing the stone within his hand. "What happened to you?"

Rising to his feet, Castiel was suddenly overwhelmed by the sensation he was being watched and span around on his platforms, burying the stone into his pocket and raising his weapon with his other hand. When his feet were planted firmly onto the ground, he readied himself for battle, only to be surprised to find a stone angel statue standing behind him. Its face was shielded by grey hands, reminding Castiel of an action he often saw people perform when they needed to relieve some grief.

Confused, he tilted his head to the side, lowering his weapon and memorizing each detail of the stone angel's features; its perfectly carved fingers shielding its face, the detailed and almost lifelike wings protruding from its back, the way the dress it wore pooled around the floor beneath it, carved elegantly in order to give the illusion it was being swayed by the wind. After noticing the fact the top part of the statue's wing was missing, Castiel's pocket began to feel heavy, though he refused to look away from the statue that appeared out of nowhere.

A distant memory tickled the back of Castiel's mind, fighting to make its way into the forefront of his thoughts as he pursed his lips in thought.

"No," he exhaled softly, taking a half a step back away from the stone figure when a revelation hit him.

His eyes squinted as he processed what he was witnessing and suddenly Castiel couldn't help but feel relieved at his lack of need to blink.

The sound of prayers filled his mind, again, almost causing him to look away from the statue before him. His desire to answer them was beginning to overwhelm him and yet he held his ground, mentally apologizing to his friends for not coming to their aide.

"I'm sorry," he, then, said to the grey figure in front of him. "You didn't deserve what made you this way."

A cool breeze pushed his coat away from his body as the last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon.

"I'll find whoever did this," he informed the weeping figure, storing his weapon inside his coat. "I promise."

Without another word, Castiel took to the skies, steering his way back towards Heaven to inform his brethren of what he found.

'Sam and Dean will have to wait for now,' he thought to himself regretfully, pushing his wings harder than he ever had before. 'Heaven is under attack.'

**A/N: **Holy bad writers' block, Batman! I'm sorry I took so long to update this, I just could not figure out where to go with this and did not want to sound like a moron after posting it. I know what I want to do with this now so I'll keep at it as much as I can. Thank you for being so patient with me!

xo, Madeline


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